Tracking Bigger Game
by Queen of the Castle
Summary: "If you're willing to stoop to doing Smith, then you're clearly gagging for it. I just might be convinced to give you what you want. If you behave, that is." - Harry/Draco, Draco/Zacharias


Warnings: Public sex, hints of D/S, explicit sexual content, adult language.

Author's Notes: For the slythindor100 advent challenge. Eighth year fic. Also, I maintain that a bit of Fiendfyre might be able to destroy the current contents of the Room of Requirement, but not the magic of the room itself. That's way too complex to be just burned away.

* * *

With nearly twice the usual number of students being of age and the push for House unity being higher than ever after the war, it was hardly a surprise when, as Christmas approached, whispers about an alcohol-drenched celebration started up among the older students.

The teachers had yet to figure out a sure-fire way of restricting the use of the Room of Requirement, so it was a simple enough task to smuggle in bottle after bottle of Ogden's directly from the Hog's Head.

So the night before the train was due to carry the majority of the students off to their homes for the holiday break saw most of the seventh and eighth years (and more than a couple of cunning sixth years who had snuck their way in as well) gathered inside the Room and practically tripping over their own feet as they danced and caroused drunkenly.

Harry watched them all make fools of themselves (especially Ron, with the way he was almost literally slobbering all over Hermione) with intense amusement. Though he'd limited himself to just two shots – having learned over the past couple of years that he much preferred to have control of his own mind, given the choice – Harry was more than happy to see his friends (and even those people who most certainly _weren't_ his friends) let loose and have a bit of fun.

At least, Harry thought he was all right with it until he saw exactly how _much_ fun Draco Malfoy was having tucked in his little corner, almost (but not quite) out of sight of the rest of the room.

At some point (probably playing the game of strip poker Harry had eyed earlier in the evening) Malfoy had lost the majority of his clothing, leaving him with only a Santa hat perched on his head and tight red matching underwear that would have left little to the imagination even without being shoved down low on his arse. Harry was so busy staring in admitted awe at all that revealed skin that it took him a moment to notice that there was a hand trailing pointedly down Malfoy's back.

Harry had disliked Zacharias Smith before the war, and he'd hated him when he saw the boy flee like a coward from the Final Battle. That was nothing, however, to how Harry felt about him when he was forced to watched Smith insinuating his hand down the back of Malfoy's pants. The material clung to the outline of his curling fingers, leaving no doubt as to precisely what he was doing.

Harry was close enough to hear Malfoy's gasp as Smith fingered him, but the pleasure derived from Smith's touch appeared somehow secondary to Malfoy's fascination over what his own touch was doing to Smith. There was a strange reverence in Malfoy's eyes as he stared directly downwards, watching his hand work Smith meticulously.

Harry hated that expression, not because it made Malfoy look abhorrent (far from it), but because Smith didn't deserve to have anyone, even Malfoy, taking that much care over him. No one should so obviously _love_ the feel of Smith's prick in their hand.

"Oi, Smith!" Harry called out vindictively, unable to stand silent any longer. "Put your tiny cock away, would you? The sight of it'll make everyone in here sick."

Apparently being called out like that sobered Smith up enough that he seemed to realise he was actually in public. He nearly injured himself, so hastily did he jerk his trousers back on, earning a small chorus of laughter from those other students who were near enough for Harry's words to have drawn their attention. Red-faced, Smith fled. That was obviously what the tosser was best at, Harry thought to himself.

Malfoy, however, didn't seem inclined to scurry away as well, despite the fact that Smith's body was no longer shielding the sight of his erection – mercifully still covered by his underwear, though barely – from the room. Nor did his lack of embarrassment seem to come, as Smith's initially had, from being too drunk to realise he was making a spectacle of himself. He looked at least as sober as Harry. Yet Malfoy still stood proudly in place, his stance inviting confrontation. His eyes burned, though strangely not entirely in anger, from what Harry could tell.

Harry grinned at him unrepentantly, then walked away. It was getting late, and Harry doubted he was going to come across a more satisfying way to end his night than ruining Smith's.

Just moments after Harry had departed from the Room of Requirement, though, he was grabbed from behind and roughly shoved down the hallway and into a nearby loo. Malfoy immediately followed him inside, glowering at him.

Harry had no desire to see the night end in violence, but Malfoy looked so tense that Harry feared for a moment they were about to have a repeat of the last time they'd been in a boy's toilets together. Malfoy clearly didn't have a wand to reach for, though; where would he stash it?

"What is your damage, Potter?" Malfoy said. "Since when has my copping off been any of your business?"

Harry made a face. "Seriously? Look, I don't know what Mummy and Daddy have told you, but you're actually not God's gift. Not everyone's dying to see you having it off with that bastard Smith in public."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh, so it's the fact that I was with someone else that has you so hot and bothered that you felt the need to interrupt a perfectly good handjob, is it? Jealous, Potter?"

Yeah right, Harry thought scathingly, though he did privately wonder. By all rights, he should have been just as disgusted at the idea of seeing Malfoy's prick as he had been Smith's, but that hadn't exactly been the case, had it? Harry could hardly deny that his impression of Malfoy had changed over the past two years. And as Harry found that he was more than half-hard, and he couldn't stop himself from glancing down at Malfoy's groin far more often than he could justify, it seemed suddenly obvious just what his feelings for Malfoy might have changed _to_.

"I couldn't give a damn about you," Harry lied (not all that convincingly, he thought). "I'm just happy I didn't need to see Smith's face as he shot off."

"No one said you had to watch," Malfoy said. "But you couldn't look away, could you? You wanted what Smith had."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Was Malfoy seriously _teasing_ him? What the hell was wrong with him?

What was wrong with _both_ of them?

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said. It sounded weak even to his own ears.

"Make me," Malfoy said. He sounded like he meant it, too. Like he really wanted Harry to step up and force him to do what Harry wanted. "Come on, make me shut up. Stop me from going back out there and finding Smith again. I could have his pants around his knees in less than a minute. This time I'd do it right in the middle of the room, too, where everyone could see. Would you drag me away from him again?" Malfoy challenged.

Harry wasn't oblivious. Not all the time, at least. He could tell the difference between someone who was spoiling for a fight and someone who was desperate for something else entirely.

Malfoy clearly _wanted_ Harry to be jealous; to be possessive, even though Harry had no right to be. More than that, it seemed he intended to get Harry so riled that Harry would take possession of him. He wanted Harry to try to _control_ him.

And damn, but just the thought of it made Harry so hot that he didn't want to just _try_. He wanted to succeed; to have Malfoy sacrifice that bloody pride of his as he submitted to Harry's beck and call, even if it was just for a while.

It was madness – maybe Harry was a touch drunk after all – but Harry couldn't find any motivation to stop himself.

"You'd like that," Harry said, "but _I'm_ not going to do a thing to stop you. You're still not going to go out there and track Smith down, though. You're going to come over here and kneel in front of me, instead, aren't you?"

Malfoy sneered. "Why would I do that?" he said. 'Give me a good enough reason', Harry heard.

"Because if you're willing to stoop to doing Smith, then you're clearly _gagging_ for it. I just might be convinced to give you what you want. If you behave, that is."

"You're delusional," Malfoy said. "As if you could possibly have _anything_ that I want."

"I don't know about that. I think, considering everything I've seen tonight, you want a nice hard cock to worship. You want to be ordered to touch it. You want me to shove my dick so deep into your mouth that you'll be scared you'll choke on it, even as you'll be wishing your mouth was free just so you could beg me for more. You want me to put you in your place, the way you know that only _I_ can. Because if it was Smith you _really_ wanted, or just any bloke who would have you, you would never have bothered with the effort of chasing after _me_," Harry said. "Am I wrong?"

For a long moment, Harry thought he'd pushed it too far. He expected Malfoy to storm out, and maybe immediately rush off to spread rumours about Harry's apparent sexual proclivities around the school for good measure.

Instead, after due consideration, Malfoy stalked towards Harry and, instead of attacking him, slid gracefully to his knees.

"You'd better be as good as all that," Malfoy warned. "Don't make me regret this."

Then Malfoy's hand was at the zip of Harry's trousers, and Harry spent a horrified second thinking that he might come in his pants just from the feel of that.

But he managed to get a hold of himself, and when Malfoy had him free, he faked confidence by pressing the head of his cock right up against Malfoy's lips.

"Suck," Harry commanded.

Even suspecting how eager Malfoy was to be ordered about, though, Harry was surprised at just how willingly he complied. His lips parted, allowing Harry to thrust forward slightly, and with that simple gesture he handed Harry power over him.

Harry hadn't thought it would be this good. Unlike himself, though, Malfoy clearly wasn't a novice at this. He knew exactly where to run the tip of his tongue to make Harry squirm. It took every ounce of will-power not to spill himself down Malfoy's throat straight away.

Harry cupped the back of Malfoy's head, knocking the Santa hat off in the process, and wove his fingers into blond hair. He thrust himself deeper, against the back of Malfoy's throat as promised, and though he heard a slight choking sound and felt muscles clamping down oh-so-pleasurably on him, it was just as he'd suspected; Malfoy didn't pull away, instead seeming to enjoy having Harry take charge and push him to his limits.

Harry's hips set to thrusting, and even though Malfoy wasn't _quite_ experienced enough to know how to relax his throat, it didn't matter at all. His lips circled Harry's cock, and he kept up the suction just enough, and his tongue was deliciously agile. When he circled his fingers around the back of Harry's balls, that was the limit of what Harry could handle.

"Merlin, so good. Such a fucking slut," Harry choked out, and then came.

Malfoy drank down his spunk almost hungrily, his eyes locked so firmly on Harry's that Harry couldn't break the stare even as his vision threatened to white out.

When Malfoy's lips finally slipped free of Harry's slowly softening prick, he gave Harry an expectant look, and slipped his hand down to the waistband of his underwear to indicate that he expected Harry to divest him of his very last article of clothing now. To be honest, Harry was actually dying to see Malfoy completely bare, and to stroke him off in return. But after having seen the way Malfoy responded to both Smith and himself tonight, Harry thought he finally understood what Draco Malfoy _really_ wanted.

If he satisfied Malfoy now, that would be the end of it. But if he made Malfoy wait, and forced him to dwell on it all throughout the holidays, letting the tension build up to bursting all over again, then something a lot better than just a hormone-driven one-off might come of this. Harry wasn't sure why, exactly, but he knew that he wanted that.

So Harry patted Malfoy almost condescendingly on the cheek. "If you want me to touch you, you'll have to do more than _that_ to earn it. Meet me back here after the holidays and we'll see if you can't do a better job then."

As Harry stepped away and set his clothes to rights, abandoning Malfoy where he was still kneeling in the middle of bathroom floor, Malfoy's expression was outraged. However, Harry was almost certain he also caught the slightest hints of intrigue and desire to prove himself on Malfoy's face as well.

It was rare for Malfoy to turn down a direct challenge. Especially one from Harry.

Harry couldn't wait to see what happened when it was time for classes to start back up.

~FIN~


End file.
